A history of the town of Sullivan, New Hampshire, 1777-1917, Volume I, Part 60

Author: Seward, Josiah Lafayette, 1845-1917
Publication date: 1921
Publisher: [Keene, N.H., Sentinel printing Co.]
Number of Pages: 888

USA > New Hampshire > Cheshire County > Sullivan > A history of the town of Sullivan, New Hampshire, 1777-1917, Volume I > Part 60

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The little "Social Reading Circle", described on page 550, lasted only about a year. The few books were preserved and read, more or less, by the people of the town. At the annual town meeting, in March, 1893, it was voted to comply with the requirements authorized by the state with respect to aiding town libraries. Fifteen dollars were appropriated for the uses of a town library, which was repeated for each of the next two years. In 1896, the appropriation was $22.20; in 1897, $25; in 1898, $22.50; in 1899, and since then, yearly, $25. The library established by vote of the March meeting in 1892 received as a nucleus the books of the old reading circle already noted, and has yearly added a few to the list. It is under the care of a board of three trustees, elected at the annual March meetings by the town. So far, they have been :

1893. Mason A. Nims, Marshall J. Barrett, Charles A. Tarbox.

1894. Leslie H. Goodnow, Mason A. Nims, Marshall J. Barrett.

1895. Mason A. Nims, M. J. Barrett, L. H. Goodnow.

1896. Marshall J. Barrett, Leslie II. Goodnow, M. Wesley Hubbard.

1897. L. H. Goodnow, M. W. Hubbard, Horace R. Fifield.

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1898. M. W. Hubbard, H. R. Fifield, L. H. Goodnow.

1899. H. R. Fifield, L. H. Goodnow, M. W. Hubbard.

I 900. L. H. Goodnow, M. W. Hubbard, H. R. Fifield.

1901. M. W. Hubbard, H. R. Fifield, L. H. Goodnow.

1902. H. R. Fifield, L. H. Goodnow, M. W. Hubbard.

1903. L. H. Goodnow, M. W. Hubbard, H. R. Fifield.

I904. M. W. Hubbard, H. R. Fifield, Eugene Marston.

1905. H. R. Fifield, Eugene Marston, M. W. Hubbard. 1906. Eugene Marston, M. W. Hubbard, H. R. Fifield.

There are 335 books in the library, with an average of from 40 to 50 patrons yearly, who take out about 300 volumes, including duplicate loans of the same volumes. In 1899, book-cases, costing ten dollars, were purchased for the use of the library. Mrs. Ann S. Nims, wife of Mason A. Nims, was appointed by the first board of trustees as the librarian, and the library is at the house of Mason A. Nims, situated between the two villages, a fairly central location as respects the area of the town, but considerably west of the centre of the existing population. The books are well selected and are kept in good condition. The patrons, who can be any residents of the town, average about 45 to 50 a year, who average to take about a half dozen volumes each in the course of the twelve months.

Before the library was formally established by the town, it had been in existence, as we have seen, since the formation of the old reading circle in 1869. Dea. Asa E. Wilson was chosen as the first librarian, Dec. 24, 1869. No other is recorded as having been chosen during the existence of the society. He was re-elected at a meeting, held on Dec. 6, 1870. For several years before the town voted to establish the library as a free, public, town library, the books were kept at East Sullivan, in the Union Hall or at the house of T. A. Hastings. The latter's wife was the librarian. The library then contained 103 volumes, which was the number passed over to the town. The library has received such public documents as libraries are entitled to receive from the state and from other sources. Some of the volumes heretofore belonging to the town have been turned in to the collection. The books had been purchased by private subscription before the town established the library.

2. LANGUAGES.

Fifty years ago, it would have seemed a strange question, to ask how many languages were spoken in Sullivan. Today that question could be asked with propriety and it would not be so easy to tell the exact number. The mother English is, of course, the prevailing speech, and will always remain so we hope. Within the last thirty years, there have been ten or a dozen French families in different parts of the town. As a rule, their speech is not pure French. It is the Canadian dialect, which is a much adulterated form of the language. Very few of the French residents can write or even read their own language. A very few among them have been able to both speak and read correct French. The children who have grown to maturity here have acquired a good speaking knowledge of English and the most of them write it fairly well. Our French families, almost without exception, have been good people, honest, and indus- trious. Their children have attended the Sullivan schools and assimilated

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themselves, in every way, to the forms and manners of the natives. The French are naturally a polite people and very affable. The manners of their young people are often very easy, gracious, and agreeable.

The Poles and Finns have been employed considerably by those who have brought the portable lumber mills to the town. Several of our old houses have been filled by such persons, who could hardly understand any English, much less make themselves understood by others. Some Swedes have worked here.

Of course these conditions are only temporary. It goes for the saying that English is and must continue to be the prevailing and, practically, the only language, but a complete history of the town calls for a notice of the fact that these various languages have actually been the vernaculars of persons who, for the time were actually living and "keeping house " on our soil. Older persons rarely learn a new language readily. The children, as well as younger persons, very easily acquire a speaking knowledge of English. A working knowledge of English is attained without great difficulty. A complete understanding of the grammar and idioms is exceedingly difficult. The pronunciation is also diffi- cult, especially as the lexicographers are not unanimous in their decisions. A provoking uneasiness among English-speaking peoples to be doing something of an " up-to-date" character has seriously disturbed the stability of the lan- guage. A curious instance was the effort of the president of the United States to change the spelling of the language, which, happily, amounted to nothing, at the time, of any consequence.

3. LITERATURE.

Sullivan has produced no famous literary light, whose reputation has extended all over the country, or of the world, like the reputation of Edna Dean Proctor, who was born in Hopkinton, or of other writers and authors. Not- withstanding that fact, the town has produced a few writers who were endowed by nature with a natural genius for poetry and prose composition.

The first in point of time was CAPT. ELIAKIM NIMS, who was a born humorist, in the most proper sense of that term. His wit was original and harmless, yet pointed and entertaining. He was a ready versifier and could produce poetry on the spur of the moment. He was a natural rhymester. His poetry is all in iambic tetrameter. One day, Benaiah Cooke, the editor of the Cheshire Republican, meeting him upon the street in Keene, said to him : " Mr. Nims, I hear that you can make a poem, on the spot, as quickly as ever Watts did." Mr. Nims replied : "I can, sir." Then said Mr. Cooke, " Give me one now." Immediately, Capt. Nims began :

" Of all the villains whom God forsook, His name, -it was Benaiah Cook. The earth was glad, and Heaven willin', To let the Devil have the villain."

There was no ill feeling between the men and Mr. Cooke enjoyed the joke (for it was only intended for such) and appreciated the readiness with which Mr. Nims reeled off the poetry.

If anything occurred that was ridiculous, he was quite likely to describe the subject in verse. A certain young fellow of the olden time desired to pay his addresses to a daughter of Mr. Enoch Woods. She was a proud-spirited young

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woman and would not listen to such a proposition. The fellow, not doubting that his company would be acceptable to any lady, had made known to the boys that he was going to the house of Mr. Woods to "stay with the young lady ", as the expression was used in olden time with regard to courtship. After meet- ing with a refusal, he was ashamed to go where any of the boys would see him and crawled into a shed belonging to Mr. Woods. Eventually, he fell asleep, and rolled into the hog pen. He was then obliged to go home at once, in that sorry plight, and, on the way, he encountered some boys and was obliged to confess the affair. Capt. Nims immediately composed a somewhat lengthy and most humorous poem upon the subject which possessed much poetic merit and abounded in wit. No part of it can be quoted without the liability of injuring the feelings of persons still living.

Capt. Nims, like all sensible wits, occasionally turned the laugh upon him- self. He, too, was several times refused by worthy young ladies. On one such occasion, he consoled himself by describing the incident in verse, begin- ning as follows :

When I was young and in my prime, I went to see sweet Adeline. 'T was in the month of merry May,

I went to see proud Baasha Day.

I soon from her got this reply,

" Than stay with you, I'd rather die."

So I rode home, you may suppose ;

My brothers from their supper rose.

When they came out, I soon turned pale.

They said to me, " Why do you ail?"

I said, " I've had a mortal blow. She knocked me down with 'No, no, no.'"

The poem, a rather long one, is full of wit. Capt. Nims was an uneducated man, and we are not to look in his poetry for any specifically brilliant literary effort, but he had a mind which was like an uncut and unpolished diamond. If he had been blessed with such educational and literary opportunities as the present time affords, he might easily have been trained and cultivated and would have undoubtedly acquired an enviable reputation as a humorist. One day, in the time of Andrew Jackson, he met a man who asked him to which political party he belonged. Mr. Nims said he was a Whig. The man replied : " Be a Democrat and be somebody ". To this Capt. Nims replied :

" A Jackson man who died of late, Away did go to Heaven's gate ; Gabriel met him with a club, And knocked him down to Be'lzebub."

We will not pause to discuss his views of heaven, Gabriel, or Beelzebub, but his striking readiness to reel off a poem in good metre at such short notice was quite remarkable.

The citizens of the town long preserved a riddle invented by Capt. Nims. A black boy, named David Dorchester, who lived on what we call the Justus Dunn farm, went to Keene one day and bought a kettle. He came home, mounted on a brown horse, carrying his kettle on his head, with the three legs up. It was a most comical sight, and Mr. Nims, who saw it, immediately composed this riddle :

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HISTORY OF SULLIVAN.

" Black upon black, And black upon brown ; Three legs up And six legs down."

CYNTHIA LOCKE, who became the wife of Rev. Moses Gerould of East Alstead, and who was the mother of Rev. Samuel L. Gerould of Hollis, spent her last years in Concord, N. H. She was a lyric poetess of much merit. Her spirited poem at the Sullivan Centennial, found on page 45 of this book, shows the keenness of her intellect at an advanced age.

The following poem by Mrs. Gerould appeared in the New Hampshire Sentinel, printed at Keene, May 29, 1857, in memory of her niece, a daughter of Charles P. Locke, who died at Mt. Holyoke Seminary, at South Hadley, Mass.

ELEGY ON MISS SARAH A. J. LOCKE.

Is Sarah gone? and can it be I never more her face shall see ? Still, in a narrow bed she lies, No roof but Heav'n bespangled skies.

But she's not there; her form is laid Beneath the spreading cypress shade, A casket, emptied of its gem, Now set in heavenly diadem.

But why so young removed away ?

Why not allowed a longer stay, An only child, her home to cheer, And glad the hearts of parents dear ?

Why quench'd the beaming of her eye? Why hush'd her voice, O, tell me why ? Why pal'd her cheek, why droop'd her head? Why lies she in that narrow bed ?

How desolate and sad at home That Sarah does not, cannot, come ! They almost write and chide her stay, For tarrying so long away.

But lo ! I hear from Holy Word, " Be still, and know that I am God ; What though my judgments seem severe, Mercy you'll see all beaming clear ;

" I love my own and seek their good, Though oft their path is through the flood ; And what thou know'st not now shall be Reveal'd in blest eternity."

DAUPHIN W. WILSON, who lived in the south part of the town, was a balladist. He had the true spirit of poetry in his nature, but had never given any attention to the laws of metre, and the metrical arrangement of many of his poems is seriously defective. . His poem at the Sullivan Centennial, printed on page 70 of this book, sounds like an old-time ballad and is of that nature. It is in iambics, of 7s and 6s variety, as many of the old ballads were written. He was careless, however, in the selection of words, although by training and practice he might easily have been a good poet. He had a sentimental turn of

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mind and was particularly attached to his native town. Every object of interest which ever existed in the town was treasured by him in memory. The old meetinghouse, the old schoolhouse of his childhood, the old cemetery, the old halls, and stores, all reappeared in his imagination over and over again. Of the poems which he left in manuscript we have selected for publication the follow- ing, written on the day of the last church service in the old second meeting- house, which stood just back of the site of the present Town Hall. The metre is iambic, with alternating tetrameter and trimeter lines. A hymn of this form is said to be in common metre.

LEAVING THE OLD MEETINGHOUSE.

Farewell, these old gray walls, farewell; Farewell each foot-worn aisle. How many score the friends who here Have met us with a smile.

Like autumn leaves torn from the trees, They're scattered far and wide. Some rest in yonder burying ground, There sleeping side by side.

Some chose a home still further north, Where 'neath the frosts and snows, Far from their early childhood's home, Their bodies now repose.

Some made the distant west their home, Nearer the setting sun, And on the prairies sank to rest, Their earthly work well done.

Some, too, passed through the " Golden Gate ", A fortune there to gain, Where gold is found in shining sands, On California's plain.

Some made the sunny South their home, In days long since gone by, And sleep their last long dreamless sleep Beneath its genial sky.

Who knows but some who worshipped here Have crossed the ocean's wave ? Who knows but some, shipwrecked at sea, Have found a watery grave?

And some of those who now remain, Who oft have met us here, Have heads all silvered o'er with age, With frosts of many a year.

Their life lamps burn but dimly now ; The flick'ring soon will cease ; And heav'nly light will guide their steps, Where all is rest and peace.

These old walls, too, must soon come down, Be levelled with the ground ; Like those who once did worship here, They'll soon be scattered round.

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Whene'er a fragment I shall see, 'Twill in my mind renew The thought of friends, so near and dear, Who sat in every pew.

REV. JOSIAH PEABODY was a satirist, who lived at Sullivan Centre. He did not always spare the feelings of those whom his satire hit. Hence, we could not quote many of his productions. He was a graduate of Dartmouth College, belonged to a family of great distinction in New England, and had inherited a fondness for wit and sarcasm which characterized much of his literary work. He published several poems in the local county papers, some of which were deserving of a place in a permanent collection of literature. The poem which we shall reproduce here appeared early in 1854, in the Cheshire Republican. It is a satire on the hypocritical pretensions of men who claim to be temperate and yet "drink on the sly ". He felt that certain men who advocated temperance did not practise it and that their lives, in other respects, were not above reproach. He even intimated, as an illustration, that some such men had been known to sell wool a second time, without the knowledge or per- mission of the first purchaser. Among his clerical brethren were some, as he supposed, who meddled with the methods of politicians in a way derogatory to the dignity of the profession, whose conventional liberties were confined to a narrower range then than they would be today. Without any observation upon the validity of his reasoning, we give the poem as it left his pen, simply as a specimen of his literary style. If he had any particular persons in mind, the poem furnishes no clue to their identity, and, after more than a half century from the composition, no harm can come from the publication. The metre is the same as that of the preceding poem by Mr. Wilson.

TEMPERANCE POLITICS.

Right well I love the temp'rance cause, For 'tis a cause divine. It boasts of heav'nly origin, And does man's heart refine. Temperance will our lives prolong, Will give the firmest health ; It will our pleasures multiply, And is the road to wealth. But how shall we this cause advance, So rich in good to man? This is the question to be solved,- Tell me kind friends who can.

Opinions many we shall find On this, as other, themes, And, oft, we find the safest course Between the two extremes. Some will all means repudiate But strictest moral suasion ; With this they think to carry on The temp'rance reformation. Others would legal suasion try,- Demand most stringent laws,- They say that nothing short of this Will serve t'advance the cause ;

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That moral suasion has been used, But used without effect ; The public good does now require Rum traffic to be checked. They are prepared all lengths to go The Maine law to endorse, And they would into office ride Upon this hobby-horse. Some cleric men, I understand, Of late have grown so bold As to affirm that Maine-law men Alone shall office hold.

Whether or not they are correct, The Ides of March will show, But is it not their proper work To save mankind from woe? Did they espouse the cause of Christ, Themselves to him devote, For this,-that they might spend their time To teach men how to vote ? " My kingdom is not of this world ", I hear their Master say ; But they engage in politics,- Whose servants then are they ?

A sad mistake, indeed, we trow, These holy men have made; They did not " count the cost", it seems, Before they learnt the trade. Good heavens ! men to be proscribed For mere opinion's sake ! Do we live in the age of fire, --- Of faggot and the stake? In the age of iron bedsteads And Spanish inquisitions, And all the nameless shibboleths Of Roman superstitions ?

Must those upon a rack be stretched Who chance too short to be, And those sawed off who are too long ? Where then 's our liberty ? If church and state united be, We'll go the swine entire,- We'll have a pope .- What say to this, Ye who this change desire ? A single master we desire- A pope then let it be- To many masters whose commands Perchance might disagree.

But, friends, do not our cause despise Because it is abused. Abstain from brandy, gin and rum ; Let cider be refused. 'Tis true, indeed, that some who sign

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The temp'rance pledge drink gin, If out of sight they chance to get, And reckon it no sin. Some temp'rance men forsooth are found! Who none too honest are,- Neglect by rules of rectitude Their daily lives to square.

They'll flaming speeches make and seem To have a martyr's zeal,

But mark their conduct and you'll find- I do not say they'll steal ; But other things deemed not quite right They'll do, -and shall I tell ?-

They have been known the second time The same warm fleece to sell ! But we will not enumerate The faults of temp'rance men ;

Good causes all have hypocrites, Why should not temp'rance then ? The wolf so oft sheep's clothing wears That we are not surprised, If, when we lift a sheepskin up, We find a wolf disguised.

Solely as a specimen of spirited satire (with no comments whatever upon the motives or meaning of the author), this poem indicates talent of a high order. Mr. Peabody published another poem upon the " Lessons of the Waning Year ", which was also well written, not so pungent as this, and replete with tender sentiment, although not wanting in those touches of satire so characteristic of the man.

MARQUIS DELAFAYETTE COLLESTER, a young man of great promise, who died before he had fully developed his latent powers, early evinced a poetic talent of a high order. We have at hand only a single specimen of his verse, which was written at the time of his leaving Powers Institute at Bernardston, Mass., and was published in local papers as "An Original Poem by M. D. L. Collester, at his Graduation." It is in iambic pentameter, the metre generally used by Milton and Shakespeare. Being in rhyme, it is the form known as heroic verse. It is a production of much excellence, graceful in form, and stately in the movement. The following is an extract from the poem :

HEROES OF PLYMOUTH ROCK.

There is a spot of fair ancestral name, Rich in historic narrative and fame, The home of purity,-New England's pride,-

The place where exiled heroes lived and died. No Adriatic or Ægean wave Licks the lone dust beside their humble graves ;

No classic ruin totters o'er their dust,

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Nor chiseled monument, nor sculptured bust ; But now, as in the trying days of yore,

Our own Atlantic laves the fertile shore. Where once was wilderness and gloom and strife, See villages and cities spring to life ; Where once was ignorance and vice and crime, Now hear the merry church bells weekly chime;

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Where threats of savage vengeance filled the air, Now list the sweet persuasiveness of prayer. Methinks with less preliminary talk You would anticipate " Old Plymouth Rock," The spot where truth first lit her beacon fires, And, with a dauntless zeal that never tires, Did struggle to maintain on every hand Religious freedom and the rights of man. Her sturdy champions left upon our shore Impressions that will live forevermore. Undying records of their deeds we find Within the grateful hearts of all mankind. Man's right to worship God as he might choose Was once a theme for critical reviews ; Priest, pontiff, prince, and king rose up to say That they would have it all in their own way. The cruel record of their gloomy reign The cheeks of angels might with blushes stain.

Their wretched vaults and racks and prison-walls,

Their gloomy courts and inquisition halls, All speak of cruelties that once did flood Mankind with mis'ry, and the world with blood. But when the Mayflower's weather-beaten keel Its stormy way towards Plymouth Rock did feel, When first upon our bleak, deserted soil, With courage rare, and persevering toil, Undaunted by the storm or billows' toss,

They reared the standard of the Christian cross, An era dawned upon the sin-stained earth, Surcharged with blessing, and replete with worth ;

" Freedom to worship God " did then engage The rapt attention of that haughty age ; Along the brow of heaven, with words of fire,

The sacred motto mounted higher, higher, And, like the star of Bethlehem, stood still, The prophecy of ages to fulfil.

Mr. Collester graduated at Middlebury College, became a lawyer, also the prin- cipal of a seminary in Minnesota, and died early in life. He was a brilliant young man whose light was too early extinguished.

By far the best writer in verse whom Sullivan has yet produced is Mrs. Edwards, whose maiden name was ELLEN SOPHIA KEITH. Although she was born in Keene, she had lived in Sullivan from her earliest childhood until her father's decease, but away much of the time, engaged in teaching. She was well educated and was an excellent school-teacher as well as a poetess of especial merit. Her graceful poem which was read at the Sullivan Centennial is printed on page 34 of this book. It is in 5-line stanzas, the first, third and fourth lines in iambic tetrameter, and the second and fifth lines in iambic trimeter. The metre is faultless throughout, and the words most fittingly chosen. If oppor- tunity had made it possible, Miss Keith (now Mrs. Edwards) might easily have been in the front rank of modern writers of verse. Her ode at the Centennial is also printed on page 44 of this book. The following is a poem which she sent to be read at the reunion of the former students of the Westmoreland Valley Seminary, at Westmoreland, Aug. 14, 1895. The instructor was Rev. (now Rev. Dr.) S. H. McCollester, who, with Drs. A. R. Gleason of Keene and E. A. Kemp of Danvers, Mass., former associate principals, was at the reunion.

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POEM BY MRS. E. S. K. EDWARDS.

Back, where a fair, sunny valley Rests, the placid hills among, Back to days that live in mem'ry When our hearts, our hopes, were young, Turn my thoughts, O, brothers, sisters, Like a pilgrim to his shrine, And my spirit with you lingers As you meet for "auld lang syne."

Once again I tread the path way Leading to the school-room door ; Once again I list to voices We, on earth, shall hear no more; Once again as when the shadows Of those autumn evenings fell, I can hear the clear tones ringing Of the dear old study bell.

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A history of the town of Sullivan, New Hampshire, 1777-1917, Volume I, Part 60

Author: Seward, Josiah Lafayette, 1845-1917 Publication date: 1921 Publisher: [Keene, N.H., Sentinel printing Co.] Number of Pages: 888

Author: Seward, Josiah Lafayette, 1845-1917
Publication date: 1921
Publisher: [Keene, N.H., Sentinel printing Co.]
Number of Pages: 888